


What I Wouldn't Give to See

by Iolre



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, His Last Vow Spoilers, Jim finds people boring, Jim is a bit of a creeper, Jim's idea of romance is different, M/M, No strings attached sex, S3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim cruises gay bars to find partners without strings when he needs to get off. He comes across a lone DI, and ends up getting far more attached than he had anticipated. His version of romance, however, is not the same as everyone else's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I Wouldn't Give to See

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: Could you write a Morstrade piece where Lestrade doesn't realize he's fallen in love with the infamous Jim Moriarty?
> 
> You can prompt more Jimstrade or other rare pairs from me [here!](http://minorsherlockprompts.tumblr.com)

Jim didn’t even know how it happened. Admittedly, if anyone had asked, he would have shot them. He did prefer to keep his work and personal life completely separate. One night he had been cruising the gay bars, looking for someone who was not too utterly repulsive. He was human, after all, and there were times he had to acquiesce to his body’s needs. An option would be Sebastian, his bodyguard, but that would be muddling his boundaries and then lead to the potential for feelings and Jim was having none of that.

So when a handsome man - police officer, recently investigated a double homicide, child victims, at least DI rank, married, divorced, no children - sat next to him, he shifted, pressing closer, offering a shy, tentative smile. Long day at work?, he had asked. Made small talk. Expressed sympathy, while steadily monitoring for the micro expressions that indicated the conversation was going his way. Did he really care? No. It wasn’t one of his projects. He had no sort of investment in it. But this man looked to be slightly above the rest of humanity in the pub, and Jim had decided he was going to be the one.

It wasn’t long before Jim’s hand was on the other man’s thigh, rubbing suggestively as he downed his third pint. Jim leaned in, letting his lips linger against the police man’s earlobe. Told him what Jim wanted him to do to him. Watched his pupils dilate, saw his breathing quicken, allowed a pleased little smile to curve his lips. People were so very easy, once you figured out what they wanted. So simple to push all the right buttons.

Jim allowed the other man to take him home. Fuck him into the bed, give him the release he had been craving. Once it was over, Jim cleaned himself up, got dressed, and left, ignoring the bemused smile the officer gave him. Jim appreciated his behavior. The whining and crying and begging him to stay got irritating after a while. Sometimes Jim lost control and accidentally shot them. The world was better off without them, after all.

He pulled out the warrant card he had swiped on his way out. Detective Inspector Lestrade. Interesting. When he got home, to his safe place, he threw it at a sleeping Seb, hitting him in the head, and ordered him to research everything he could. Jim didn’t particularly want a regular sexual partner, but if there was a safe option every time the urge had to be dealt with, it was by far a smarter choice. There were times for games to be played, and times for logic to win.

Time passed. The first few times, Jim had the DI followed. Waited for him to show up, and preyed on him then. After that, Jim didn’t even bother. He just dropped by the DI’s apartment and let himself in. Waited for him to get home, and got the release he had been craving. It was delicious and dirty, primal and satisfying, and Jim was less irritated by the times his self-control wavered. Maybe he even let it more than normal.

It wasn’t long before he saw it. Saw the way the DI’s eyes lingered longer than normal. The way he was tightening his lips during sex, stopping himself from saying things he wanted to say. The way his fingers moved against Jim’s skin, reverent, worshipping - caring. It was irritating, in its own way. Almost enough for Jim to call off the whole thing. Find someone more convenient, someone who didn’t care about ‘feelings’, who wasn’t going to fall prone to them.

However, Sherlock Holmes had appeared by then, and had presented Jim with a very interesting puzzle. It was time for the games to begin, and the DI was going to be a very important piece on Jim’s chessboard. He started with an easy test. Provided incentive. Sherlock was fascinating, the way he solved things. How he slotted all the pieces together and came up with the solution. The DI was good. He tried. Gathered the pieces. But he had them all twisted and sideways and could never see the elegance behind it all.

Not that Jim let it bother him, not when the DI was convenient. Not when he could provide what Jim wanted for the smallest possible price. So when the time came for Sherlock’s final test, Jim relinquished the rights to an easy shag for at least the duration of the trial. Pesky, being accused of kidnapping, murder, or whatever else they decided to try him for. He never really paid attention. Too much effort.

Seeing the DI’s face when he saw him sitting in the chair, holding the jewels, was priceless. The shock. The wonder, the fear. All mingling together. The disbelief. Jim smirked. It sent a delightful little frisson of arousal coursing through his system, seeing the other man so caught off guard. He shivered. Delicious. However, like the good little boy he was, he allowed himself to be handcuffed and carted off. He didn’t miss the way that the DI stroked his wrists. Just the tiniest bit. Confusion and comfort, all wonderfully twined together.

The trial went as he expected. It was rather boring, actually. Talking and talking and scared little creatures. The DI would focus for a while, and then turn to stare at him. Jim delighted in watching him out of the corner of his eyes, reading all the little signs that danced across his face. Confusion. Anger. Hatred. Fear. Lust. Oh yes. Jim especially liked seeing that last one. Made him feel powerful. Wanted. He would smirk, turn his gaze back to whatever was going on. Pretend to pay attention.

Then the trial was over, and he was free. After his little visit to Sherlock, he put his plans into motion. Watched the meticulous building of Reichen bach - Richard Brook, a tiny little actor who was wholly unthreatening. Unfrightening. Everything Jim wasn’t. But it was the role Jim got to play, and one that would serve him well. He was a chameleon, after all. He could play whatever role he wanted, wear whatever skin was necessary. It was his greatest skill.

When Sherlock stumbled into that flat, saw him, all stubbly and afraid, it was one of his greatest performances. Little Richard Brook, the actor, pressured to play the Moriarty role by the great Sherlock Holmes. It was fun, casting suspicion onto him. Watching those who at least once allied on his side slowly turn against him. He even made a trip to the DI’s home. Explained what had happened. Who he was. There were doubts, there were certainly doubts. The DI was still on the side of the angels, at least for now.

Nevertheless he consented for one more night. Gave Jim one last shag. The consulting criminal drew it out as long as he could. One last time, he would lose himself. Become human. Allow someone to claim him, take him, hold him. Once it was over, he tucked himself against the DI. Pretended to draw comfort from his presence. Pretended to want him. Need him. All emotions that Jim would never feel.

Eventually he left. Just a bit more to get sorted out. He couldn’t face Sherlock unarmed, not with how high the stakes were. There was too much at risk. Plans needed to be made. Contingencies designed for each plan. It was a meticulous, nasty process, and Jim loved every minute of it. He gave orders. Wrote notes. Used computers, for added security. Everything was thought out and every little stray thread accounted for. It had to be perfect.

He slid the gun into its pouch. Made sure everything was where it needed to be for his big performance. Every little detail mattered. It had to be believable. Real. He was on the rooftop for a long time, before Sherlock joined him. His mind wandered. Traveled down various paths. Thought out this way and that. Mourned the loss of an utterly fantastic shag. Banal to be thinking of such things, he knew, but sex had been a delightful way to unclutter his mind and the DI had possessed a rather nice cock and the knowledge to put it to use. Sighing, Jim leaned back, as he received notification that Sherlock was heading his way. The games were about to begin.

It went the way he had been expecting, really. Contingencies in play. It was the ultimate in pushing his own limits. Russian roulette to the extreme. The gun was loaded, yes, all but one chamber filled with bullets. Spun, so he had no idea what was in the chamber. Would he be shot? Would he not? It was thrilling, not knowing his fate. Sherlock had wandered into his trap like a good little pet. Made the mistakes that he had expected. The contingencies that he had anticipated.

The only way to push him to the next level was to take the second step. He inhaled sharply. The DI would find him. He was probably on his way. It made him sigh. Made him shiver. What he wouldn’t give to see the expression on his face. See what he thought, what he felt. Figure out how to pick him apart. Break him down. Consume him. That was his way, after all. Lestrade was his, and Jim would do whatever he wanted to his property.

He shoved the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Then the world exploded.

-

Three years later, the DI was sitting at the pub. Drinking a pint. He stood, drink in his hand, making room for someone next to him. He looked up at the television, a familiar voice drawing his attention. The glass dropped from his hand. Shattered on the floor. He was frozen.

His mobile vibrated, snapped him out of it. He pulled it out. Pressed the button. Stared.

_‘Did you miss me? JM’_


End file.
